Don't Let The Tide Catch You Sunning
by girl in the glen
Summary: Mlaw wrote a Snapshot where Illya has to do duty in filing (a punishment of sorts), in contrast to Mr. Waverly's suggestion that he be sent to the tropics. Well, I decided to send IK to the tropics myself. Rated G for Giddy.


_A bit of whimsy and unabashed voyeurism inspired by a __Snapshot__ from Mlaw. It's beyond explanation._

~~~~~:~~~~~

Illya Kuryakin was a man born to the northern climes, as evidenced by his clearly Nordic characteristics. Blond and blue eyed, he exemplified the image of someone from snowy peaks and Northern European gene pools.  
And therein lay the problem, because at this moment the pale Russian was sweltering in the heat of the equator on a strand of South Pacific beach intended for luxurious vacations, not THRUSH interrogations.

"You will tell me the formula, Mr. Kuryakin, or I will leave you here in this heat until your blood begins to boil. When the tide comes in this evening you will most likely drown." The threats were empty, Illya knew that because he was the only person left who could recite the formula being sought by Van Cleef, a notorious THRUSH chief.

"I doubt very much that you will let me die here, Van Cleef. You want the formula and I alone possess it. Perhaps if you were to let me up from this ridiculous contraption I might be persuaded to give you a hint." The Russian was bluffing, of course. He had no intention of disclosing the formula. He did want to get off of this piece of driftwood that was being used as an instrument of torture. It was on this rough planking that Illya was tied, his bare body turning several shades of pink as his skin absorbed the punishing equatorial rays. He had no illusions about how he would come out of this should Van Cleef hold him here much longer. Sun poisoning was an absolute possibility, and he was envisioning the signs of it in swollen extremities and severe burns. His eyes were also in danger as he tried to keep his lids closed, something that was hampered by stinging sweat dripping from his forehead.

Van Cleef grinned in that way so disturbingly common to THRUSH lunatics. Why was it that he seemed to always run headlong into these types, wondered the blond agent. Napoleon was somewhere on the other side of this island entertaining a woman, unaware that his partner was staked out on the beach, roasting at a steady temperature of ninety degrees in the equatorial sun. Illya determined that he would never return to this part of the world if he had any say in the matter. Getting free was the first order of business, however, and that was moving rather slowly.

"Mr. Kuryakin, why should I believe that you would tell me anything? You're an UNCLE agent, and a rather fierce one at that. You and Mr. Solo have been grievously damaging to my operation, and now you've ruined my lab and destroyed all of the records that were to catapult me to the top of THRUSH's governing body. No, I think I like you better here. Tis a pity what can happen to a man when he's set upon by sea life... crabs and the like. I don't suppose they'll spare any body parts, hmmm..."

Illya grimaced at the thought of it, deciding he definitely needed rescuing right about now. Where was Napoleon?

Napoleon Solo had drawn the part of the assignment requiring him to dazzle Van Cleef's second in command, the lovely Natalie Dorfman. It was a pleasant diversion, to be sure, and in so doing it was hoped that Napoleon could gain entry into Van Cleef's villa. Illya had already destroyed the lab, but what they needed now was hidden away in the man's safe that he kept in the master suite. Inside that safe was the prototype for the conveyance of the formula Illya had memorized. One was useless without the other, and the goal now was to obliterate the machine so that the formula would be useless. Natalie could get Napoleon into the Van Cleef villa easily, and under the guise of wanting to be with her there in the suite she occupied, the two headed towards the pink stuccoed building.

Past an entry garden that boasted orchids and a variety of palms, Napoleon and Natalie climbed the tiled steps that led into the villa's large front porch. The beautiful THRUSH took her willing partner by the hand, ready to lead him upstairs and into an afternoon of blissful lovemaking. What Natalie had not anticipated was Napoleon's true identity, something that would take her completely by surprise.

"Natalie, my sweet...' Napoleon prefaced his disclosure with practiced charm... "If you will kindly show me where Van Cleef keeps his safe, I would be very much obliged." The unsuspecting woman was shocked; she hadn't considered the possibility that this handsome man was an enemy. She tried to get away from him, but Solo laid a strong hand around her wrist, compelling her to lead the way to Van Cleef's suite of rooms. He would have that machine, and hopefully without having to hurt the young woman. She was, perhaps, merely a victim. Immediately, Napoleon imagined that he saw Illya rolling his eyes as he quickly dismissed the excuses that Natalie might put forth.

"Napoleon, take me with you. I know something ...' She stopped, then considered the handsome blond that Van Cleef had set his thugs upon. Her attraction to Napoleon notwithstanding, she hated to think what might become of the other man.  
"I know where your friend is, what has happened to him." Napoleon stopped, unaware that Illya had been captured by Van Cleef. Now he had two missions to accomplish: get that machine and find his partner.

"Okay, Natalie... Tell me. I can try to get you out of here and into a better circumstance but you must tell me where Illya is. What has Van Cleef done to my partner?" The girl shuddered, knowing that if she cooperated with this UNCLE agent, there was no point in remaining here. Van Cleef would kill her as surely as he was going to kill the blond.

"He took him up the beach, to a cove where he ... uh... well, let's just say he's used it before. I imagine he's waiting for high tide to come in, and if your partner hasn't provided whatever Van Cleef is wanting from him, then he'll drown... Or worse." That puzzled Napoleon. What could be worse than drowning?

Napoleon managed to get the safe open, his deft fingers handling the lock like a criminal genius. He opened the door and grabbed the odd looking machine. All of this trouble for what appeared to be nothing more than a simple box. Napoleon knew that wasn't the case however, and the inner workings of this little box, when combined with the formula that Illya had locked away in his mind, could spark destruction on a vast scale.

"All right, I've got it. Now let's go get my partner, Natalie. I promise I'll keep you safe." Natalie nodded her head, wanting to believe that she would indeed be safe. She hoped it was true.

On that strand of beach where Illya Kuryakin lay pinned to rough piece of wood in the intense heat of the equator, Van Cleef was beginning to worry that he might actually lose that formula. He knew the machine was safe inside his villa, something no one else knew. All he needed now was the formula that this stubborn Russian from UNCLE had wrapped within his memory. The tide was rising and the platform on which Kuryakin was secured would not move in response to it. The Russian would die here on the spot, and with it the hopes of conquering all of THRUSH. Van Cleef decided it would be better to risk deception than to lose everything on the whims of the tide.

"Very well, Mr. Kuryakin, I will give you an opportunity to tell me what I want to know." With that statement, Van Cleef released one of Illya's wrists, allowing him to have some mobility while still attached to the stationery wooden platform. "I believe you said that you were willing..."

Illya was grateful for this small bit of freedom, i might tip the scales slightly in his favor. After all, any leverage was better than none at all. Van Cleef knew it was unlikely that Kuryakin would talk, however this tease might compel the man to give up some little bit of information. Perhaps that was all he needed to begin to reconstruct the formula.

"Tell me something, anything, and I will untie your other hand, Mr. Kuryakin. You can still drown in the high tide, you know. Having one hand free will not insure that you survive." Illya understood, but he also still hoped that his partner was going to show up. The sun had done some damage to the fair skin of the Russian, and delicate parts were guaranteed to need special care at the end of this ordeal. Once more he wondered how it was that he always seemed to end up being the one stripped down to his underwear, or in this case even less, for purposes not of a pleasant nature. Napoleon was willing to get naked as well, but he generally had a beautiful woman to join him in the activity of stripping. Things were not equitable, on any level.

Napoleon and Natalie were spying the scene from a dune a little bit above the beach. Still dressed in khakis and a linen shirt, Napoleon had yet to break a sweat or get his clothes dirty. It caused him some distress to see that his partner was stripped naked in the withering sun, and even at a distance the color pink was easy to spot. "Boy, Illya's gonna have one heck of a sunburn." Natalie was sympathetic, she'd had a few herself and she wasn't nearly as pale as the man down on the beach.

The tide was beginning to roll in with large, lapping waves. The water washed over Illya, and even with one free hand he wasn't able to sit up completely. He held his breath as wave after wave began to inundate him. Van Cleef was yelling at the agent to tell him something, anything that would give him one of the keys to his formula. Illya steadfastly refused, but soon it wouldn't matter.

Napoleon was making his way down the dune and towards Van Cleef. The older man had a rifle at his side, and Napoleon needed to make certain he didn't use it on either of the UNCLE agents. Natalie had agreed to serve as a decoy, walking directly down to where Van Cleef was standing while Napoleon snuck up from behind. It worked, and as the THRUSH chief made a move towards Natalie, he felt his legs go out from under with one powerful lunge from behind. Napoleon pinned him down and hit him hard on the jaw, knocking him out instantly. Quickly and with some help from Natalie, Napoleon untied Illya who was now sputtering beneath the water as it washed over him. The salt water stung his tender skin, but as the restraints came off and he was dragged up the incline away from the incoming tide, Illya felt nothing but relief.

"I fancied a midnight swim, but still it's better that you managed to get here before I became one with the sea." The relief in Illya's voice was palpable as Napoleon stripped off his shirt and handed it to the sunburnt blond. hHe wrapped it around his waist in an impromptu pareo, assuming a pose not unlike some ancient warrior as he looked at Van Cleef with violence in his eyes.

"Easy tovarisch, we'll have our day with him. Let's let the authorities deal with Van Cleef; we need to get you something for that burn. Ouch, that's really going to hurt later." Illya turned his murderous gaze on Napoleon with that remark. "It already hurts, some parts more than others." Natalie looked a little lost at that remark until she remembered being caught somewhere between amazement at his endurance, and admiration of a particular part of the blond's anatomy.

Napoleon drew out his communicator and contacted headquarters, alerting Mr. Waverly to the situation and asked that the authorities be notified. He efficiently tied Van Cleef's wrists with the same bindings that had been used on Illya, then roughly pushed him up the beach to the dune and onward to the villa. There were no guards present so the quartet waited for a constable to arrive from the township a few miles away. Van Cleef was taken to a secure location to wait for a team from UNCLE to pick him up the next day.

Napoleon knew that his friend was hurting, and that Natalie was still shaken from the afternoon's activities. She would fine asylum with UNCLE and be relocated to someplace safe. Illya was just hoping for some relief, although he realized it would be days in coming. He hated the equator.

As the evening wore on Illya emerged from his room clad only in an actual pareo that the hotel provided; a simple wrap of fabric with nothing beneath it to aggravate the sunburn. Since they'd been on the island for a few days the damage was not as bad as it might have been. The pale skin was already an acceptable shade or two darker, so that today's ordeal had been primarily uncomfortable in those areas not normally exposed. Still, the pareo allowed him to wear nothing beneath it, a great relief to the sensitive blond. Sitting in the hotel bar, the two agents looked at ease for the first time in a week. Seeking out the lab and Van Cleef had been an arduous task, but the reward of being able to relax and watch the waves rolling in... Even Illya could appreciate the view.

"Illya, you look downright native tonight. I may have to get one of those things." Napoleon was grinning ear to ear; his partner looked a little stiff, but for the most part he was fine. That was a relief.

"This is amazingly comfortable. I may adapt this as my regular attire when not at headquarters or on the job. Certainly the Scots have worn kilts for eons, and this is similar in concept. I believe it is a very agreeable manner of dress." Napoleon didn't believe a word of it. However, after seeing several women admiring the Russian in this native garb, perhaps it was something to consider.

"It suits you, Illya. You finally have something to wear that matches your haircut; completely bohemian." Illya smirked a little, but only for a few seconds. A young woman approached who had a look of concern on her pretty face. "Excuse me, but did you stay out too long in the sun today?" Illya smiled and replied as Napoleon looked on.  
"Yes, unfortunately I fell asleep and... well, you can see the results." The girl was sympathetic. "I have a treatment for sunburn. If you're interested I'd be happy to apply it for you. Um.. It's in my bungalow...' she pointed to one of the little huts built on stilts, water lapping below it. Illya was not disinclined to accept.

"If you'll excuse us, Napoleon, I am going to join..." The girl giggled. "My name is Abigail."  
Illya smiled at her... "And mine is Illya. Shall we?" And with that they departed, leaving Napoleon to wonder about blonds and sunburns and pareos...

"I think I'll stick with tuxes and martinis. Waiter!"


End file.
